


Becoming Tenar

by penintime



Category: Earthsea - Ursula K. Le Guin
Genre: F/F, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:21:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penintime/pseuds/penintime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why did Tenar leave Ogion's teaching behind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Becoming Tenar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celestialskiff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialskiff/gifts).



Tenar had lit three bayberry candles and settled down in front of the fire, when the door flew open and Ogion appeared. Before entering he stopped in the doorway, shook snow out of the heavy cloak and leaned his staff in its spot against the wall. “This stuff is more wet than cold.” His voice was hoarse. With a smile, Tenar looked up from the table at the rugged figure; glad to see him, but with a pang of worry over that hoarseness and what it might mean, other than not a word spoken in the fortnight he'd been away. She knew better than to mention it however; he would not be fussed over.

“This flurry surprised me. Yesterday I spotted green tips of earwort coming up by the overfell. I thought spring had sprung.” She said instead, and carried on her work of wrapping cheese; he sat down beside her and watched as she dipped the brush in melted beeswax and carefully covered each cloth wrapped wedge in sweet gold. “Fan sent this for you. I told them you couldn’t finish all of it, but they insisted. I thought I’d take half.”

“Mhmm.” He looked around the warm, tidy room. “Very tidy. Tidier than when I left. You have been staying here?”. She nodded slowly. There was no reproach in his voice and she knew he didn’t mind- had known he would not- yet she sensed a concern. She dipped her brush again.

“The cottage is cozy, and Fan and his wife are nice. But the village... tires me. I just needed to be alone for a while.”

“Perhaps.” Ogion looked at her, but said no more. They supped together while the cloak dried by the fire, filling the house with its perfume of wet wool, woodsmoke, and moss. Tenar slept deeply that night in the little alcove, and she did not dream of the kind round face and those frightened, sad eyes. The next morning, Ogion went out before she woke, and came back looking pleased, as she stirred the porridge. “Snow’s all gone.” he said.

As spring slowly gained foothold and the last visitations of cold withdrew from the cliffside, Tenar grew weary. She spent her days in the Mage’s, studying longer and longer hours with Ogion as the days stretched towards summer. There on the Overfell with the great lore books laid out on the table, she tried to listen; tried to find interest in the runes and words he put before her. She was happy there in the stillness that surrounded him, but all the while, around the edges of her mind, something shivered and twitched; a restlessness which lingered just beyond sight; which dug its claws into her shoulders and the small of her back. Every night, as she left the house on the cliffs and walked back towards the village and her little cottage, she would become aware of that soreness or tension deep in her bones, and she’d lay in the darkness, stiff as a plank of wood; sleepless, hard and heavy.

One day the sun had regained enough courage to warm the wall and bench by Ogion’s door, and they held their afternoon lesson there, basking in the light, listening to birds drunk on spring, and letting the gentle fingers of the first warm wind stroke their cheeks. Ogion was showing her a rune.

Manan knew it as well, which surprised her; he drew it in the air before her now and then she felt her eyes become heavy and solid like marble orbs in their sockets. She knew they would fall out, and she would have to feel for them among the stones on the ground. She would never find them. Then she awoke, confused; Ogion was shaking her, alarm in his eyes.

She put her head in her hands and sobbed. He put his arm around her, drew her closer. They sat there silent; until words, and the warmth of the day, came back to her. She answered his unspoken question slowly, stutteringly. “If I could just, stay, here with you. I can sleep, here. In the cottage… I am so lonely there, and, I dream of Penthe… and Manan. I don’t feel like myself… or, I do… I don’t know…” Ogion waited, silent, until she relaxed. Then he went and fetched some rushwash tea for them. They both sipped slowly. Ogion scratched his ear and looked at her.

“This is the second spring that you are my ward, Tenar. You have learned much in this time, and so have I. I have come to love you like a daughter. If you wish to stay here for the summer, you are welcome. But I wonder, if perhaps there is better healing for you elsewhere.” She couldn’t think what he meant by that, and he spoke no more of it that day.

On an early summers' day Ged returned to the Overfell; came walking up the little path skirting the cliff. Ogion had gone on one of his forest treks. She was weeding the onion patch, and when she saw him she stopped and sat back on her heels in the dirt, discombobulated. Then she got up, wiped her hands on the apron, and went to meet him. Ged waited for her by the cliff’s edge. He smiled and reached out and patted her shoulder. Then he turned his face to the sun and sea, leaned against his staff and drank the air deeply. “I said I would come when I could. You look at home here, like I knew you would. Priestess of rocks and onions, now! Is Ogion about?”

They sat down on the bench together, and Ged told her all about his year after restoring the ring. He wanted to hear about her settling in, and she told him how the first few days with Ogion had been frightening, yet relieving, after Havnor and the commotion and being the Lady of the Ring. She told of living in the cottage in the village, and people staring at her, and the whispers. She didn’t mention that the men scared her with their long gazes and the faces and gestures they made to each other as she passed by.

Instead she told of trying desperately to learn Hardic, and how instead of making things easier, it had made life in the village uneasy for her, as she discovered how little there was for her to say to Fan’s wife or the fishwives or the basketmaker or the mender. She described how she'd felt after finding out that the village talked about her, disapproving of the her studies with Ogion; told of the first time she’d heard the saying “weak as a woman’s magic”. Told of how she’d overheard a joke about the girl apprentice and “what would the mages in Roke say if they knew”, and how upon hearing it, chills had run down her spine. Ged listened as she spoke her worry; what was this learning for?

She had already lived one wasted life, all that she had been and known as Arha was useless and empty and must be cast off– everything from the songs and dances and the knowledge of the rites -down to the way she spoke and moved as priestess of the Nameless ones. Arha would not- could not - live in Fan’s cottage in Re Albi. Was she now to learn again, from Ogion, how to be Tenar – only to find that Tenar could never use that knowledge, never live it? What was the use of this? What was the use of her? She knew she couldn’t do it again, couldn’t leave another life behind. Yet leaving the teaching would mean leaving Ogion, and the Overfell, and that was impossible too. So there was nowhere for her. She explained this to Ged, and though he nodded sympathetically, she wasn’t sure he really heard her. “You have been learning the runes?” he asked her, incredulous.

When she asked him how long he would stay, he said he was passing through, on his way to visit his friend Vetch on Iffish. “Many times he has stood by me at his own peril. I wish to see him now, for once, without some evil hanging over us.” He laughed. “And Lookfar has been beckoning me to sail east once more to the waters where I found her. I thought I’d come and see you, and Ogion, on the way. I’ll wait for him and then stay on a few days with you both. There is much to tell.“ Tenar smiled and nodded at this, but inside she was sorely disappointed. All that year she had wondered how he was, hoped he’d come like he said he would. She had imagined the adventures that they would have together, and the cozy evenings they would spend around Ogion’s table. But a year had passed and he hadn’t come, and now he was here, and… It was like she was an afterthought.

That evening, they sat with their tea and cheese and bread. Tenar didn’t know what to say; Ged seemed to have nothing to say. Tenar stoked the fire and then busied herself with the dishes. Strange, how different one silence could be from another! Ogion was a quiet man, though in the year with Tenar he had most likely spoken more than in all the years proceeding it. Meanwhile she, too, had lived her previous life without much friendly conversation, and though Penthe and Manan had been close to her in spite of their fear of her status and those she served; her priestesshood had always overshadowed any attempt at companionship. In the past year, Tenar and Ogion had grown into a comfortable silence, interspersed with discussion and conversation, and of course instruction. But this evening with Ged, the quiet pressed upon her, and she barely managed to suppress the impulse to fill the void with chatter. So she kept herself occupied, and was relieved when he took his cloak and went outside to sleep.

Ogion came back the next day carrying a treasure of rare herbs and roots. They all worked together to prepare them, while Ged shared the plans for his journey with Ogion. When the herbs were safely drying in bunches under the rafters, Ogion made tea and Tenar got out some oatcakes, apple chutney and honey. Ged carried it out to the little bench.

After they had eaten, Ogion turned to her. “For months, I have sensed a cloud hovering over you. Long ago, I heard of a place on East Hand where women go to learn and heal. It is a solitary place, and few have seen or even heard of it –could be it is no longer there. I said once before that you might find better healing in some other place. This is what I had in mind, yet somehow I couldn’t see your way there. Ged’s journey might be a boon, for he will be passing right by the place, and could set you off at Blue Pine Cove. And if it should be abandoned, you can travel with him to Iffish. When you first came here, you told me you sought silence. But perhaps the silence you need is not the kind offered here.”

Tenar drank her tea down and sat silent for a while, before turning to the older man. “What can I learn there?” she asked.

Ogion answered gravely, “I do not know. But she who told me of it spoke warmly of her time spent there. All I know is that it is not what you will learn here, nor in the village.”

At that, she set her cup down and looked at Ged, who just laughed; “Tenar, are you willing to put your trust in Lookfar once more?”

The boat sat low in the water, loaded as it was with food and water. The further away from land and other people they went, the lighter Tenar felt, and the smoother conversation flowed. Ged showed her how to sail, and she shared with him legends and history from Atuan and Kargad, and taught him Kargish words. When the island of East Hand appeared on the horizon, Ged told of the last time he’d approached it; when he’d been lured in between the long fingers by the shadow, and how dark and foreboding the place had seemed then. Now they sailed clear around those fingers and down to the southwestern shore, in under the “thumb”, following Ogion’s directions to Blue Pine Cove. Here the coastline was dramatic due to extreme tides; long mudflats guarding the red sandstone cliffs which rose up and up and up; steep and topped with dusky evergreen forests. Here and there, the water had eaten away at the rock leaving jagged towers of sandstone protruding from the water, like broken teeth. The air reverberated with the cries of birds leaping off the rocks by the hundreds, diving towards them; warning them to keep their distance. They obliged, but Tenar stood in the aft, gazing at those rocks as they grew smaller, until she could no longer make out the crawl of white bodies against red stone.

Just further south, the cliffs begun to slope and were broken up in places by rocky shores. Silver pines grew there, straggling and tormented, and when a cloud came over the sun, they seemed to shift a deep blue. As they came upon a little bay they spotted a building up on the cliffs. Smoke rose from the chimney. They drew Lookfar up on a beach where a boat was already turned upside down on the sand. From somewhere in the trees they heard the bleats of sheep or goats. A great white dog came bounding recklessly down the cliffside on a narrow path fringed with grasses and bayberry, greeting them warmly with barks that were deep enough to instill respect in the visitors, before leading them back up the rocky trail.

The dog led on past a low building perched on the edge of the cliff, then through a flowering meadow and a well tended orchard. Tenar and Ged passed through a gate, finding themselves in a cobbled yard where a solitary ancient hemlock tree grew tall and straight in the center. Two small buildings and a great old house were built around it, each connected to its neighbour by a porch, so as to form a sheltered square. A woman sat there spinning wool, taking no notice of the strangers. Behind her the doors of the great house, beautifully carved and painted lorbanery blue, opened and a young girl appeared. She walked right up to Tenar and took her hands in hers.

Later, long after Ged had left for Iffish, Tenar and the girl, Dawn, sat spinning outside the great house, along with Dawn’s sister Annahar and Annahar's love, Eihad, who almost never spoke. They had all come to Blue Pine Cove seeking healing and solitude, finding also friendship and sanctuary. Women would come and leave as needed. They kept sheep, and the wool they spun and dyed was sought after for its quality and vibrant colours, and fetched a good price on West Hand and in Mishport on Vemish. Raven, an old woman who had lived in the Cove longer than anyone could say, possessed a wealth of knowledge and was happy to share it. Tenar, who was a fine spinner, learnt traditional East Reach embroidery and how to make the softest, warmest wool cloth in the Archipelago. The bad dreams stopped. She found an unexpected kind of care and friendship, where equals meet in joint understanding. She saw what might bloom when little is unspoken or feared, and learned the power of women working together, not needing to obey or be obeyed. Slowly, she learned how to be Tenar.


End file.
